Word Trivia Answers Revealed

Back in the middle of September I set up a little word quiz here. I included some of the most waggish terms that can easily befuddle even the most sagacious word smiths.

Now, you could altercate that what’s typed here is mere trumpery from an old pettifogger, and therefore not worth the binary code that was used to form the letters, but truly, who doesn’t like the odd bit of trivia?

You’ll find a review of the quiz below. Those who have not yet undertaken the challenge have been accommodated, as I have refrained from revealing the correct answers until the end. To those who’ve already participated and practiced Googlestraint (ya, I just made that up), I thank you for playing and for your abstinence. However, I lament that this format is a decoy to lure you far down the page, and thus closer to the ‘Like’ button.

I’m sorry to say that this time my daughter, vexed by her existing ‘mono-cookie’ contract, and failing in her attempts to have me ratify a ‘multi-’, decided that the world needed more Crayola unicorns than word pictures.

Nonetheless, onwards to the review and impartation.

Snollygoster:

A: Someone who is unwanted and shunned at social gatherings because of their habit of creating tension.

B: A monster that lives in sump pump wells and is the true cause of those terrifying gargling sounds. The “logical” people claim the noise is caused by the activation of the pump.

C: A politician who does or says things for personal gain.

Wabbit:

A: A term for being exhausted.

B: What Elmer Fudd calls Bugs Bunny.

C: A type of metal used to make wheel bearings.

Nudiustertian:

A: One who adheres to a hedonist lifestyle, for whom ‘everything goes’.

B: A word for the day before yesterday.

C: A mundane occurrence.

Abibliophobia:

A: The fear of bibs.

B: The fear of running out of reading material.

C: The fear of libraries.

Here is what’s ‘On the beam’:

Snollygoster:

C: A politician who does or says things for personal gain.

Wabbit:

A: A term for being exhausted.

Nudiustertian:

B: A word for the day before yesterday. Not as much fun as it sounds, is it?

Abibliophobia:

B: The fear of running out of reading material. I think most of us can relate to this one.

And as a bonus:

Bibble: The sounds of people eating/drinking noisily. This can be especially bothersome if you suffer from misophonia, which is the strong negative feelings, thoughts, and physical reactions to  “trigger sounds”.

Ratoon: The small shoot that comes from the root of a plant.

Bumfuzzle: A state of confusion. This term is so fitting for this article.

So, you have the meanings, take a bow if you knew most of them off hand . . . you are a true crackerjack!

Thanks for playing! Remember, a day without learning something new is humdrum.

 

 

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Bibbles, Ratoons, And Bumfuzzles. Oh My!

Okay, raise your hand if you want to play a word quiz game today. Great! That’s everyone!

These words are some of the wackiest the English language has ever come up with, and that’s saying something.

Three choices are located under each word, and you guessed it, only one of them is correct (I challenge you to try them without Googling).  There are four words in total. You can put your guesses in the comments section, if you wish. The correct answers will be revealed in my next post.

For your viewing pleasure, I’ve asked my daughter to draw her interpretation of the word meanings. She really likes purple, can you tell?

Now, on with it.

Snollygoster: 

A: Someone who is unwanted and shunned at social gatherings because of their habit of creating tension.

B: A monster that lives in sump pump wells and is the true cause of those terrifying gargling sounds. The “logical” people claim the noise is caused by the activation of the pump.

C: A politician who does or says things for personal gain.

 

 

Wabbit:

A: A term for being exhausted.

B: What Elmer Fudd calls Bugs Bunny.

C: A type of metal used to make wheel bearings.

 

 

Nudiustertian: 

A: One who adheres to a hedonist lifestyle, for whom ‘everything goes’.

B: A word for the day before yesterday.

C: A mundane occurrence.

(sorry, no picture, didn’t want to try to explain that one)

 

Abibliophobia: 

A: The fear of bibs.

B: The fear of running out of reading material.

C: The fear of libraries.

 

 

So, there you have it, a few more words to add to your vocabulary arsenal that should have your friends and family rewarding you with an expression that might look like this:  (have your camera ready)  You’re welcome.

 

 

Bigfoot Is Coming!

Today I have the privilege of welcoming my special guest, D.L. Finn! She is an author who is responsible for wonderful stories, across various genres! In this blog, she will be discussing her upcoming publication.

 

 

I want to thank Mark for inviting me on his blog! Since becoming a member of Rave Reviews Book Club I have been lucky to meet a lot of extraordinary authors, including Mark, and develop friendships along the way. Mark’s book Vanished is high on my TBR list for this summer’s reading.

Besides all the amazing books I’ve been lucky to read, I’ve been working, too. One project has been my first short story Bigfoot: A Short Story for “The 90-Day, Alpha / Omega (Beginning to End) Short Story Writing Contest” RRBC is hosting.

This has forced me to flex those unused short story muscles I haven’t used in a while. Luckily it came back to me quickly and I found a new freedom that writing novels doesn’t allow. My inner child took over and began to soar. The idea for “Bigfoot” came from a newspaper article a few years back when a local lake was being poisoned a second time to remove pike fish from it. The reasoning was the pike would kill the local species of fish–especially the trout. Aside from how I felt about pouring toxic chemicals into Lake Davis twice, I began to wonder what if. Then my what if laid around for many years until this contest where it became Bigfoot. This story is different than anything I’ve written before, but within my X-File type interest. Here is a short blurb:

Can you believe everything you read? Steve must answer that question when he finds a strange blog while searching for his friend’s address.  It was crazy to consider the government would poison a lake to find Bigfoot–and Steve wasn’t crazy. But, there were also some truths weaved into this unbelievable tale. Steve began to question his comfortable reality as he kept reading.

Bigfoot: A Short Story is available for pre-order now on Amazon with the release date of June 21^st–for the first day of summer!

 

D.L. Finn is an independent California local, who encourages everyone to embrace their inner child. She was born and raised in the foggy Bay Area, but in 1990 relocated with her husband, kids, dogs and cats to the Sierra foothills in Nevada City, CA.  She immersed herself in reading all types of books, but especially loved romance, horror and fantasy. She always treasured creating her own reality on paper. Finally, being surrounded by towering pines, oaks and cedars, her creativity was cradled until it bloomed. Her creations vary from children’s books, young adult fantasy, adult paranormal romance to an autobiography with poetry. She continues on her adventure with an open invitation to her readers to join her.

Please click on the links below to see what D.L. is up to.

Website and Blog

Twitter

Instagram

Facebook

Pinterest

Riverboarding the Coliseum

“You want to hit the right shoulder. Whatever you do, stay to the right!” This is our riverboarding guide’s final instructions as we approach the watery behemoth appropriately named Coliseum.

Perched on a riverboard, which is basically a large boogie board with handles, I nod in comprehension and glance back at my friend, Steve. He’s vigorously activating his flippers in a push to enter the precise current. A current that will hopefully propel him safely over the frothing mountain range located just meters downstream.

You ready for this? I communicate with raised eyebrows. He gives me a thumbs up.

Focus returns to my own situation. Every foot of river travelled means a corresponding increase in velocity. The need to follow the “line” being carved by our guide grows more urgent by the second.  

My legs are in constant motion as Coliseum’s juvenile offspring rise up to greet me. How they seem to grow right before the eyes! They playfully knock me to and fro, forcing a repeated adjustment of trajectory. A shift to the right here . . . too much! Back off! Need to head . . .where? Too late! I’m into it now and have deviated from the planned route of attack.

Up ahead, our leader glides effortlessly up and over the “suspender holder” of the target, before disappearing.

Deafened by the noise of the liquid train I’m riding, an attempt is made to ignore the masses of lesser rapids and focus on Mister Coliseum. But they are far from babies and each one commands respect. They thwart all last minute attempts I make to salvage this run. There’ll be no caressing the shoulder for me. This is going to be a shot right between his eyes. I press my face against the board and enter headfirst into the large dip at the base of Coliseum.

Devoured instantly by the famished cataract, the next few seconds consist of somersaulting inside Coliseum’s belly. Apparently foul-tasting, I give him indigestion and he spits me to the surface. Now pinned underneath my board, a new empathy for upside down turtles is fostered. Breathing is possible, however, repositioning is currently unachievable. The backside descent into the jaws of Coliseum wannabe’s commences. I cling to the handles of my board like Rose grips a drowning Jack in the movie Titanic. “I’ll never let go of you!” I whisper softly, between mouthfuls of H2O.

My word is proving solid. Despite being tossed, slapped, rolled, and projected out of the river in an ad-lib imitation of a breaching marine animal. The bond between man and board is often sealed by no more than a couple of fingers. Collisions with anything non-liquid are thankfully being avoided. The aqua rodeo continues for another minute before I am deposited into a comparatively gentle pool. Humbled, I salute the mighty rapid. Well played, Sir.  

“Swim over here.” The guide’s voice interrupts this moment of deep reverence.

Before I join her in a small inlet, I scan the water for signs of my brother-in-lunacy and spot him. His head is just above the water, at the far side of the pool. A riverboard no longer supports him. No worries though. Other than signs of fatigue, he’s swimming fine. Our excellent guide is already in retrieval mode and fetches the wayward board. She swims it out to him.

When he reaches earshot, my brief interrogation reveals that Steve had been caught in a seemingly endless cycle of dunk, rinse, air dry and repeat. Becoming weary of the ritual, he wisely chose to end the romance and breakup with his board. With only a lifejacket for buoyancy, the mighty Ottawa snatched him from the water carrousel and flushed him out of the rapid.

Time to move on. The few remaining rapids are mere ripples in comparison. I give a final nod to the receding leviathan. Its misty hands wave farewell. See you next year.

 

Riverboarding the Coliseum

“You want to hit the right shoulder. Whatever you do, stay to the right!” This is our riverboarding guide’s final instructions as we approach the watery behemoth appropriately named Coliseum.

Perched on a riverboard, which is basically a large boogie board with handles, I nod in comprehension and glance back at my friend, Steve. He’s vigorously activating his flippers in a push to enter the precise current. A current that will hopefully propel him safely over the frothing mountain range located just meters downstream.

You ready for this? I communicate with raised eyebrows. He gives me a thumbs up.

Focus returns to my own situation. Every foot of river travelled means a corresponding increase in velocity. The need to follow the “line” being carved by our guide grows more urgent by the second.  

My legs are in constant motion as Coliseum’s juvenile offspring rise up to greet me. How they seem to grow right before the eyes! They playfully knock me to and fro, forcing a repeated adjustment of trajectory. A shift to the right here . . . too much! Back off! Need to head . . .where? Too late! I’m into it now and have deviated from the planned route of attack.

Up ahead, our leader glides effortlessly up and over the “suspender holder” of the target, before disappearing.

Deafened by the noise of the liquid train I’m riding, an attempt is made to ignore the masses of lesser rapids and focus on Mister Coliseum. But they are far from babies and each one commands respect. They thwart all last minute attempts I make to salvage this run. There’ll be no caressing the shoulder for me. This is going to be a shot right between his eyes. I press my face against the board and enter headfirst into the large dip at the base of Coliseum.

Devoured instantly by the famished cataract, the next few seconds consist of somersaulting inside Coliseum’s belly. Apparently foul-tasting, I give him indigestion and he spits me to the surface. Now pinned underneath my board, a new empathy for upside down turtles is fostered. Breathing is possible, however, repositioning is currently unachievable. The backside descent into the jaws of Coliseum wannabe’s commences. I cling to the handles of my board like Rose grips a drowning Jack in the movie Titanic. “I’ll never let go of you!” I whisper softly, between mouthfuls of H2O.

My word is proving solid. Despite being tossed, slapped, rolled, and projected out of the river in an ad-lib imitation of a breaching marine animal. The bond between man and board is often sealed by no more than a couple of fingers. Collisions with anything non-liquid are thankfully being avoided. The aqua rodeo continues for another minute before I am deposited into a comparatively gentle pool. Humbled, I salute the mighty rapid. Well played, Sir.  

“Swim over here.” The guide’s voice interrupts this moment of deep reverence.

Before I join her in a small inlet, I scan the water for signs of my brother-in-lunacy and spot him. His head is just above the water, at the far side of the pool. A riverboard no longer supports him. No worries though. Other than signs of fatigue, he’s swimming fine. Our excellent guide is already in retrieval mode and fetches the wayward board. She swims it out to him.

When he reaches earshot, my brief interrogation reveals that Steve had been caught in a seemingly endless cycle of dunk, rinse, air dry and repeat. Becoming weary of the ritual, he wisely chose to end the romance and breakup with his board. With only a lifejacket for buoyancy, the mighty Ottawa snatched him from the water carrousel and flushed him out of the rapid.

Time to move on. The few remaining rapids are mere ripples in comparison. I give a final nod to the receding leviathan. Its misty hands wave farewell. See you next year.